Part II. Egypt
The five siblings were wandering along the far reaches of the Nile, on the
fringes of Lower Egypt.
The land there was barren, and if one strayed only a little from the river, the
desert spread out endlessly.
“Why the hell did Gilgamesh send us here anyway… Who are we even supposed to
find? This is so damn frustrating. Would it have killed him to at least give us
a name? Acting all high and mighty like a king—damn it.”
Tamar, who had been monopolizing the cart, tossed the beer cup she had been
sipping out of the goat-drawn wagon.
It had already been six months since they began wandering Lower Egypt.
Gilgamesh had left a message with the golden sword he gave to Elaton.
‘Find the person in Lower Egypt. When you meet them, you will know.’
It was a short, unfriendly message—very much like Gilgamesh.
The goat cart, having strayed too far from Shara, had reverted into nothing
more than an ordinary cart pulled by ordinary goats.
They moved slowly, and whenever they grew bored, they stopped to graze on
roadside grass.
Elaton stared gloomily at Gilgamesh’s golden blade.
His left arm was gone. The shattered wound had healed, but what remained was
too short to even strap on a shield. He had gained a fine longsword, but with
that alone, he had no confidence he could fight as he once did. He let out a
long sigh out of habit.
“Damn it.”
Eshiel threw his shattered bow to the ground. Since Gilgamesh had destroyed
it, he had been at his wits’ end.
Ordinary bows simply could not endure his use for more than a few shots. He had
searched everywhere, but finding something that could replace his former bow
was painfully difficult.
Azael, too, was halfway burned out. The Five Grand Generals’ spirit forms he
had used in the battle against Gilgamesh were only temporary. Once the battle
ended, they were released and vanished. His wraith army was vulnerable to holy
magic, and spirit summoning—once his strongest card—had not even been worthy of
notice to Gilgamesh.
‘We’re weak…’
Azael let out a short sigh as he walked, then glanced at Ella beside him.
In the past six months, she had grown so much she was almost unrecognizable.
Not only taller, but sturdier—her once scrawny, frail appearance was gone.
‘…She’s really grown.’
As Azael smiled faintly to himself, shouting echoed from ahead.
A ragged group of more than ten men were waving weapons and yelling
aggressively.
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“Ugh… sounds like they’re demanding money. Damn it… The accent’s so thick I
can’t even understand them. Ella, handle it.”
Ella stepped forward with a grin.
When the men saw a young girl come out alone, they shouted even louder, shaking
their weapons threateningly. Ella smiled brightly once—and kicked the loudest
bandit square in the stomach. As he rolled backward across the ground, the
others drew their weapons and surrounded her.
In a flash, Ella hurled her daggers, striking several men cleanly in the
shoulders and legs.
As the rest rushed in wielding flails, axes, and longswords, Ella drew her
meteor-iron dagger and looked at them with a relaxed smile.
“Damn, she’s good. She really grew up, huh?”
“Weren’t you supposed to be the one teaching her, Azael? I’m the one who
practically raised her through training.”
At Tamar’s dry remark, the others nodded half-heartedly.
Ella moved almost as if she were flying, toying with the bandits and beating
them down just enough that they wouldn’t die.
When they finally dropped to their knees and begged for their lives, Ella
collected their money and weapons. Stripped of both livelihood and possessions,
the bandits fled in tears.
“Alright, got a decent haul. Now walk, Tamar. There’s no space left to load
this.”
Tamar climbed down from the cart, grumbling.
“Why do you keep picking up junk like this? It won’t sell for much anyway.”
“If we take their weapons, they can’t rob anyone again. And these things add
up more than you’d think.”
They resumed walking and soon reached the entrance of a rural village.
Over the past six months, they had visited nearly every settlement in Lower
Egypt. This was one of the last two remaining villages.
The village was shabby, but befitting a border region, it was built more
like a small fortress. Soldiers were visible along the streets, along with
farmers and merchants.
“I’m starving… Order whatever.”
They entered an inn that doubled as a tavern, but it was unusually full,
forcing them to sit at an outdoor table.
They deliberately ordered the pricier dishes, and the owner beamed as he
hurried off. Soon, a modest spread was laid out: smoked fish, roast duck, soup,
barley bread, and beer.
They ate heartily at first, but gradually their appetites faded and their
pace slowed.
“Hey, what if we never find whoever that bastard Gilgamesh told us to look
for? Do we really have to find them?”
At Tamar’s question, Elaton thought for a moment before answering.
“Well… He wouldn’t have sent us here for no reason. There are only two
villages left. Let’s finish this and think after.”
Azael fell into thought as well. Over the past six months, they hadn’t
wasted their time entirely—slaying monsters and such—but Egypt was far more
peaceful than Mesopotamia. The gods they encountered were benevolent, and the
people lived with little hardship.
Suddenly, Azael noticed a beggar beside him, breathing visible puffs of air,
and flinched.
“Hey—damn, you startled me! When did you get here?”
“Um… sirs… Does pushing the plate aside mean you’re done with it?”
The beggar, dressed in rags with grime caked on his face, spoke with bright,
eager eyes.
The problem was the language he was using.
“Hebrew? You can speak Hebrew?”
“Ah… should I use Sumerian instead? I heard you speaking Hebrew, so…”
The beggar continued, unable to take his eyes off the food on the plate.
“You pushed the dish aside and didn’t touch it, so… I thought I’d ask.”
Azael looked at him with a dark expression, then gently slid the plate
toward him.
“Yeah… we’re done with it. Go ahead. But wipe your mouth first. Eat.”
*Patreon is now open. You can enjoy the next episode and illustrations there.
*For managing the series, I will upload twice every three days.
